The Kelir's Blade
by He Who Hunts
Summary: The evil of the Darkwatch is being roused, images of a banshee plague the Reverie of the elves of Deepingdale, foul magic is in the air and the peace between the humans and the elves is not as stable as it once was.


Disclaimer: Dungeons and Dragons, the Forgotten Realms, the Unseelie, the Seelie, Faerun, the Dalelands, elves, humans and all characters, events and places found in this story belong to Wizards of the Coast, a subsidiary of Hasbro, Inc.   
  
Author's Note: Here's the first part of the first chapter of The Kelir's Blade. I originally wanted to post the chapters whole, but I hit a concrete wall when I started writing the second part of chapter 1, so I decided to upload this bit by bit. I'll probably release a revised edition when the whole thing is posted and all the errors are corrected. I used a spellcheck and proof-read the story several times, but the little buggers always get through somehow. Anyway, read and review, but know that flames and MINDLESS PRAISE will be posted on my Livejournal where I will take great pleasure in MSTing them. Note the emphasis on the words "mindless praise". I do not want Suvian reviews.   
  
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Orange rays of sunlight entered the small room through the many holes in the walls and drapes, and yet it still seemed as black as the coal. Perhaps it was simply an illusion created by the mould-covered fireplace in front of a pile of torn and tattered pillows and the two nearly consumed candles on top of it. Perhaps the holes that allowed the light to come into the room also diminished it. After all, decrepit places such as this room were not meant to be warm and inviting. They were meant to send shiver down a spine and put commoners and adventurers on edge. Or perhaps the room was indeed warm and inviting and those who dwelt near it simply never bothered to noticed and preferred to focus on the despair the bedchamber invoked. After all, men and women with cold and cruel hearts did not belong in warm and inviting rooms. They belonged in decrepit rooms, with pillows for beds and horrid-looking fireplaces. They belonged in rooms with dust-covered paintings that none could see clearly because the paint used had faded centuries ago anyway. Evil deserved misery. Evil deserved darkness. All children of Faerun knew it. All great heroes of Faerun knew it. All historians of Faerun knew it.  
  
But this was not Faerun.  
  
In the realm of the Unseelie Court, things were quite different. Cruel matriarchs ruled over their House with an iron fist. All were evil and cruel and ruthless and all wanted nothing more than to be even more evil and cruel and ruthless in order to gain the favour of the Queen, if only so that their rivals would not have it. The goal of an Unseelie was to serve his House and work to discredit all others so that the Queen would choose her successor from their family. The life of an Unseelie was that of assassinations and lies and treason.   
  
And there was no misery for the truly evil.   
  
Misery was brought by lack of conviction. It was caused by acts of compassion or incompetence. It was punishment for failures or unacceptable scandals. It was also a tool used by the Queen to keep her cunning servants from killing her. In a society where nothing but the Queen's pleasure mattered more than luxury, there was no greater punishment than poverty. It was the best way to make an example out of a House, and the whimsical Queen of Air and Darkness rarely needed an excuse to follow her impulses.  
  
Dre'la Aelaran, matriarch of House Aelaran, was a victim of those impulses.   
  
None knew exactly why House Aelaran had been stripped of all its wealth, though the rumour accepted by most of the kelirs claimed that one of the Queen's more competent servants had not put enough vanilla in her tea and the ruler of the Unseelie, unwilling to part with a valuable employee, had punished Dre'la and her family instead.   
  
There was still hope for House Aelaran, however.  
  
Dre'la sat on a sample wooden chair located on a balcony made of wood that was as rotten as the wood her house was built of. She carefully poured herself a cup of cold water, as she could not afford tea leaves and it would have been unwise for her to waste precious wood on something so trivial. As things were, the few twigs piled next to the room's fireplace would not last until spring came. She would have to burn her pillows to keep herself warm. She put the pot back on a fragile table and looked up at the landscapes. She saw acres upon acres of trees covered in white snow. All this had been hers once, centuries ago, but now it was gone. Or perhaps it was simply momentarily out of her reach. She would find out soon, one way or another.   
  
There was a knock and Dre'la scowled as she heard the wooden door behind her crack a little. She would have to have a chat with her guest concerning finesse later. She stood up and winced as pain wracked her old bones.   
  
"Enter," she said.  
  
The door slowly creaked open and a man stepped into the room. He was taller than the woman, though it meant nothing as time had bent her back. His hair still contained traces of black, though the bulk of it was white or had fallen. Three centuries of life should not have ruined his features, but he had lived a hard life. He bowed before the woman as low as he could and made sure to keep his eyes down to avoid her own.   
  
"You have asked for me, matriarch?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, my son," she answered. "We have not seen each other in many years now, though it does not seem so long. How fare you?"  
  
"My studies of the Art are going well, matriarch," he said.  
  
"Yes," she said, "you always were a gifted necromancer. Have you heard any news from your brother?"  
  
The man shifted slightly. "No," he said.  
  
"I have," the matriarch said. "He has brought us hope. His loyalty to the Queen of Air and Darkness has given us an opportunity to regain the Queen's favour. There is hope for House Aelaran."  
  
"We are of the Unseelie Court, matriarch," he said. "There is no hope for us. We will never get a chance to redeem ourselves. M'rel is probably sending us into a trap so he can leave us and join another House."  
  
"What do you know of your brother, Brellion? And why should you care about House Aelaran?" Dre'la asked. "You have not been here in years."  
  
"I remember that M'rel abandoned us so he could be safe and I care about House Aelaran because it is who I am," Brellion answered.  
  
"As you have said, my son," the woman said, "we are of the Unseelie Court. We care only for ourselves. It is who we are." She moved closer to the balcony's edge before continuing. "I remained here because I had no choice. I am the matriarch. I am bound to my family until I die. You stayed because you did not have the ambition you now possess or the power to stand on your own. Now, however you have both." She turned to face him. "Your necromancy is great, Brellion. You could best some of the greatest of the Queen's archwizards if you planned your fights well. This is why I need you to do something for me. Or rather, for the Queen."  
  
"I will need resources, if I am to do anything.. Your private spellbooks will do nicely. I'll also need to consult the library," he said.  
  
Dre'la nodded. "All that you need will be given to you."  
  
"I'll also need M'rel," Brellion said.   
  
Dre'la gave a dry laugh. "There can be no scapegoat in this, my son. You will not be able to put the blame on your brother if things do not go well, though I was going to send him with you regardless of your desires. He should be able to advise you and he is a competent scout for the Dark Hunt. If you fail, you will wish that you were dead." She moved closer to him and grabbed his face with her bony hands. "If you succeed, I can give you anything. You will have my successor's ear. I can make arrangements with another House if you wish to leave Aelaran. You will have wealth and magic and power. You will be the power behind the throne!"  
  
It was Brellion's turn to laugh. "The only person who will truly profit from this is you, matriarch," he stated. "If M'rel and I succeed, we will be given crumbs while you claim all the glory and the riches."  
  
"We are Unseelie," Dre'la said. "That is our way. However, there is no doubt that your situation will improve greatly if we have the Queen's favour once again. Is that not worth the risk? After all, what is the worst thing that can happen?"  
  
"I could die," Brellion said.  
  
"Death will be a gift if you fail or refuse to obey me, my son," the matriarch said. "Will you do this task for me?"  
  
"I will perform this task for myself," Brellion answered.  
  
"Good," Dre'la said as she let go of her son and moved to stand on the edge of the balcony once more. "You must find a gift for the Queen within the next ten weeks in order to redeem us. Now, go, find your brother and make the necessary preparations. "  
  
"Very well, matriarch," Brellion said before leaving the room.  
  
Dre'la closed her eyes and felt the cold wind against her body. A particularly cold gust caused her to shiver. She moved into the room once more and removed some curtains, exposing the holes they covered and allowing more useless light into the room. She walked onto the balcony once more and wrapped the drapes around her lithe body. 


End file.
